7d ago
Fifty-six, divorced two years ago, and I have somehow ended up with a date next Friday. An actual date. With a man I met at a quiz night who laughed at the same terrible joke I did. I should be pleased. I am pleased. I am also completely terrified and have spent three days catastrophising about whether my body will decide to do something humiliating at exactly the wrong moment. The dryness. The random flushes. The fact that I have not felt remotely like myself in, I don't know, eighteen months at least. I've got a GP appointment coming up and I've been writing things down beforehand because last time I went in I forgot half of what I wanted to say the second I sat down. This time I want to actually talk about the stuff I keep glossing over. The confidence. The intimacy worries. The bits that feel too private to say out loud but are genuinely affecting my life now that my life has, unexpectedly, started moving again. I've also started eating properly before evenings out rather than just having half a cereal bar and hoping for the best. Ridiculous that it took me this long to notice that crashing blood sugar does not make me feel sparkly and fun. It makes me feel anxious and pale and like I want to go home. Anyway. Just wanted to say it somewhere. We exist, us lot, starting over at an age nobody really writes the instruction manual for. x